BRB, Going To Hawaii Again…Again!

Hey, folks. If you’ve been following me on social media, you might have noticed I’ve been hinting at my next trip. By the time this posts, I’ll be on a plane headed for Oahu. Yeah, you might recall that I’ve been to Hawaii a couple of times, but this will be my first visit to this particular island. I’m definitely excited for it; it may not be the grand, epic quest that was the Mediterranean (which I’m still writing about, don’t worry!), but I’m immensely grateful to go on another adventure out in the Pacific. Each island is different, after all. Judging from what I’ve read thus far, there is going to be a lot of hiking this time around, which is right up my alley. I’m also taking a new lens, tripod, and a few filters along this time. Expect some awesome photos when I get back.

See you in June!

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The Grand Reopening Of SFMOMA

It finally happened. After years of renovations, the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art (SFMOMA) reopened to the public on May 14th, 2016. To call the event “highly-anticipated” would be a huge understatement. When their new website went live and offered free, exclusive tickets for the reopening, thousands of potential visitors flooded and completely overwhelmed its database. And I was one of them; I spent two hours navigating the perpetually-crashing site, hoping that my clicks would finally register and get me into the event. I wasn’t the only one, either. After I live-tweeted this 21st century exercise in futility, the museum’s staff actually reached out to me and offered tickets as an apology. A month and some a few emails later (thank you very much to Christopher at Visitor Experiences, and the unnamed hero running the SFMOMA Twitter), I finally got the go-ahead to come to the event.

Upon entering, I was immediately struck by the sheer size. The lobby and staircase have long been a staple of the museum, but they’ve been revamped in order to keep the flow of visitors steady and focused. Aside from the gift shop (which is more than double the size than that of the Exploratorium), much of the entrance hall is free space for people to either stand, sit, or walk to the elevators. Or you could be like me and spend several minutes gaping up at the massive, cylindrical atrium that cuts through the first four floors of the building. It’s beautiful from the bottom, but it looks much better once you get up to the suspended walkway overhead. The ground floor isn’t the only part with huge floor space; the museum now has additional 235,000 square feet with which to accommodate visitors. As someone who despises crowds, I was quite grateful for the extra space. I’ll admit that I’m more of a classic art and history kind of person; The Legion of Honor has a special place in my heart, but SFMOMA does spacing and crowd control so much better. Despite being incredibly busy, it always felt like there was enough room to breathe.

Assuming, of course, that the exhibits don’t leave you breathless. There are well over 10,000 works of art at SFMOMA, in all shapes and sizes. It was good to revisit works like Ruth Asawa’s metal wire sculptures, the dramatic brush strokes of Jay DeFeo’s The Verónica, and the massive prayer beads that comprise Zarina’s Tasbih. It felt great to come across familiar names like Diego Rivera’s The Flower Carrier, Henri Matisse’s Le serf, Bentley’s Snowflakes, as well as works from pop culture giants like Andy Warhol. There was also a surprising amount of photography on display. Most of it depicted local histories, like the view from the top of partially constructed Golden Gate Bridge circa 1935, the twisted routes of Los Angeles freeway system, and some fascinating portraits of Patty Hearst.

What I found most interesting were the works that implemented modern technologies. Richard Serra’s Sequence is a two-story labyrinth that absolutely dominates one corner of the museum, and it was crafted with weatherproof steel at German fabrication plant. Anthony McCall’s Slit-Scan uses a rapidly-shifting slide projector to convey his message. The cafe on one of the upper floors has selfie booths, but you have to put objects on the machine’s illuminated surface to create the necessary contrast. There’s also a whole gallery devoted to the development of type settings, including old typewriters, posters, and keyboard technologies. One particularly stylish display was the Computer House of Cards, which utilizes some old IBM tech from the 1970 World’s Fair in Osaka. I’ve got to admit, it was pretty baffling to see a vintage ’76 Apple computer on display; I remember using one years ago in grade school! That also goes for the Palm Pilot, one of which I happened to own. My personal favorite, however, is Takeshi Murata’s Melter 3-D, which uses flashing strobe lights to create an illusion of a constantly churning and flowing ball of metal. Seriously, it looks like something out of Terminator 2!

If you’re getting overwhelmed by the sheer awesomeness of such exhibits, catch your breath at the outdoor Living Wall and Sculpture Garden. Imagine a forest floor, dense with flowers, plants, moss, and grass. Take that image and graft it onto the side of a two-story building, and you’ve got the Living Wall. It’s as pleasant as it is unusual; no one expects to find a miniature forest in the middle of downtown San Francisco. It’s reminiscent of the Living Roof at the California Academy of Sciences, but this is far more spacious and relaxing. It’s so easy to just sit down for few minutes and watch the leaves in the breeze. I you want something a little more urban, try the balcony up on the seventh floor. The view isn’t quite as grand as those of the Exploratorium or the Legion of Honor, but the skyscrapers and offices in the area make for some interesting architecture photography.

There’s plenty more to write about, but I don’t want to spoil everything. If you’re in San Francisco and have any interest in art, design, technology, and 20th century history whatsoever, you should absolutely visit this place. The variety and creativity of these thousands of works are nothing short of amazing. A lot of work went into revamping the building, and it’s now arguably the finest museum in the city. I’m incredibly grateful to have been able to come to the grand reopening, and I hope to do so again soon. Glad to have you back, SFMOMA. It’s been far too long.

Hyrule Warriors Legends Review

Hyrule is on the brink of annihilation. A seemingly endless horde of evil monsters is invading the kingdom. The castle’s walls are littered with the bodies of its defenders. Eldin Caves have been completely overrun, and something sinister lurks in its fiery depths. The trees in Faron Woods are burning down, and what’s left has turned poisonous. Princess Zelda is missing in action – again – leaving Impa and Link to lead what remains of the army to certain death.  Whoever is commanding the enemy forces is actively hunting the legendary hero. Is it a personal vendetta? A morbid obsession? No one knows. Regardless, the war won’t stop at just the borders of this Hyrule; its counterpart realms from Ocarina of Time, Twilight Princess, Skyward Sword, and The Wind Waker have all been dragged into the mess.

Even Link is going to need some help with this one.

At first glance, the story seems like a Zelda fan’s dream come true. After 30 years of games, worldbuilding, and diverging timelines, everything comes back together in the ultimate crisis crossover. In order to save his Hyrule, Link has to travel to the other versions and team up with the finest (and in some cases, most popular) warriors in the series. For those who grew up with the Nintendo 64 games, seeing Sheik, Darunia, Ruto, Young Link, and Skull Kid in action will be like a tidal wave of nostalgia. There are several nods to the mythology of respective games; Midna’s true form seen in Twilight Princess returns as a plot point, and Fi explicitly mentions that the current Link is not the same as his Skyward Sword iteration. Sheik’s true identity and Ganondorf’s involvement are foregone conclusions; the narrative indulges in those twists solely for the sake of newcomers to the series. It’s just enough fanservice to keep longtime players nodding along to an otherwise brisk pace and somewhat shallow story.

A narrative with such a grand scale is a double-edged sword. As awesome as it sounds, there’s no way to give every single character the same amount of focus and keep the story moving steadily. It only takes a few battles to liberate each of the respective Hyrules; there’s just enough time for character introductions, some banter, and a brief glimpses of the games by way of the battle maps. Beyond that, the majority of the warriors receive no development after they’ve joined the team. Despite being heavily promoted in the previews, Linkle has almost no impact on the story whatsoever. Link gets his usual arc of starting as a nobody and eventually earning the Master Sword, but now with a “power of friendship” moral tacked on. Even if it is cheesy, it makes sense; this game is all about banding together and making a combined effort to thwart a much larger force. Ganondorf is in an amalgam of the best aspects of his previous incarnations; he is intelligent, ruthless, overwhelmingly powerful, and seems like an unstoppable force of evil. His attempt to conquer Hyrule is one of the most entertaining parts of the game. The same cannot be said for Lana and Cia, the newcomers who drive the plot in their own ways. Their arcs are all about the dangers of obsession, and the emotional turmoil and unspeakable lengths that come with it. The big plot twist would’ve been more interesting had it not been so blatantly obvious, or at least had a slower build-up. Other games have handled similar subject matter, but with far better storytelling.

You’ll probably be too busy killing things to care, though. Rather than typical adventuring and puzzle solving of the Zelda series, Hyrule Warriors Legends is a straightforward musou-style action game. The overall goal is simple: conquer the battlefield and defeat the invading army. This is made slightly more complicated because, you know, you’re usually outnumbered a thousand to one. It’s easy to mow through dozens of minor enemies per second, but you’ll get trouble once you run into things like Icy Big Poes, Moblins, ReDeads, and other recurring enemies strong enough to block and take few hits. It’s even tougher when you’re facing off against a main character armed with a slew of signature moves and impressive durability. As a battle wears on, managing your army takes higher priority over your kill count. In order to stem the flow of enemy forces, you have to conquer their bases and outposts one at a time; doing so lets you control where and how powerful their presence will be. This typically involves running into an enclosed area and slaughtering everything until the game proclaims your success. You can try running blindly across the map and attempt to kill the opposing commander immediately, but you’ll probably get stopped by a locked door, thus leaving your bases unguarded, and your allies without backup. You’re left wide open for counterattacks and surprisingly fast losses. Side missions and objectives pop up frequently, forcing you to improvise your way to victory. The trick is learning to strike a balance between offensive and defensive tactics; steadily crush your enemies, but pay attention to your friends’ needs. Once you’ve gotten everything else out of the way, go for the final kill…

Oh, if only it all worked that well.

In certain respects, Hyrule Warriors Legends is technological marvel.  Taking such a huge Wii U game, adding even more content, and then cramming it onto a 3DS cart is nothing short of astounding. It’s far from perfect, though. There are still plenty of glitches to be fixed; I’ve had every enemy randomly freeze after using an Owl Statue warp, but then prevent me from conquering any bases. Some of the auto-saved checkpoints can re-spawn objectives you’ve already completed, refuse to unlock doors, or mess up your weapon’s hit detection. Your AI-controlled allies are borderline useless; the Hylian Captains fail miserably so often, they’re probably all secretly traitors. No matter how much you level up and develop the playable characters’ abilities, they will become utterly inept the moment you switch to another warrior mid-battle. The sub-weapon system, which includes arrows, bombs, and other Zelda staples, has awkward, lethargic controls and is poorly utilized. It’s used to defeat major bosses like King Dodongo, Gohma, and Manhandla, but little else aside from simple puzzles tacked on for the sake of battlefield progression or bonus items. The AI for those monsters are especially abysmal; it’s common for them to constantly recycle their animations instead of set attack patterns, which turns their fights into annoying, time-consuming games of chance.

The camera, which utilizes the C-Stick a la Monster Hunter 4 and Majora’s Mask 3D incredibly well, is barely responsive in certain directions. You’ll spend more time struggling with it than against any enemy in the game. It’s not uncommon for your view to get stuck in a corner or behind a wall, which is absolutely lethal in more difficult battles. That’s a huge problem when you have to rely on it to switch between targeted foes. Speaking of which, seeing all those dozens of classic Zelda monsters moving onscreen at the same time is amazing…Assuming you’re playing on a New 3DS, of course. The game runs decently on it, but you’ll still encounter foes that are invisible unless you’re standing right next to them. Some of the maps – Death Mountain and Valley of Seers come to mind – have intricate, cleverly-designed structures, but the draw distance is lacking, and the colors and textures are far below the 3DS’s usual standards. Even if you don’t care about the graphics and have are using an older version of the system, the poor camera controls, the sheer amount of processing, and their impact on the gameplay deserve some consideration.

The game tries to distract you from its shortcomings by focusing on its most important aspect: the combat mechanics. There are over 20 playable characters, each with unique movesets and abilities. While it’s easy to mash the X button and unleash a barrage of weak attacks, you can mix them up with stronger moves, and build up an energy meter for powerful specials. There’s no real challenge in terms of timing or technique; unless you’re trying to stun and kill a boss in a single combo, it all boils down to preference. The controls are wonderfully responsive and the attacks are flashy, and that’ll hopefully be enough to get you through the most tedious fights. There’s nothing quite as awesome as annihilating a small army by summoning Ganondorf’s giant demonic arm, or having Zant twirl and flail around like a maniacal blender. Stylishly juggling enemies with Linkle’s dual crossbows defies common sense, but it looks cool. Everyone gets unlockable alternate weapons, but the main characters get far more attention; aside from the Master Sword, Link can wield the Magic Rod, the Twilight Princess Spinner, and a few others, all with different uses and animations. Everyone can be further developed via the simple upgrade system, which allows you to improve combos, chip damage, item usage, and other stats. Combined with the character models, music (the Hyrule Field, Gerudo Desert, and Eldin Cave rock remixes are amazing), achievements, and Puzzle Swap-style artwork, there’s a ton of content waiting to be unlocked. No matter how bad the rest of the game seems, there effort involved in designing the moves and additional content is undeniable.

Since getting all of that extra stuff requires item drops, you’re going to be replaying. A lot. It’s easy to plow through the main story in a single weekend, but unlocking everything is a slow, arduous burn. You’ll spend the majority of your time on Adventure Mode, which has you tackle battles with specific win conditions and a grading system. You might have to kill a certain number of enemies with limited time, all while being chased around by a boss. Or you could slog through the laughably easy quiz missions, which give you a gauntlet of specific enemies to slay for your answers. Others, such as boss rushes and Cucco turf wars, can be surprisingly challenging. That’s especially true with the grading system; your score determines what mission you unlock next, so you’ll have to play exceptionally well if you want to get anywhere. Progression in Adventure Mode is further complicated by its layout; it’s a set of grids that resemble maps from other Zelda games. You’ll earn candles, whistles, and other old-school items that help you unlock new areas, characters, and equipment. It’s all about knowing when and where to use those items, just like the original game. Even if it is challenging and frustrating, it’s a clever, creative way to celebrate the franchise.

That can be said for the game as a whole. Hyrule Warriors Legends is an impressive feat that ultimately falters under its creator’s ambitions. Porting one of the biggest Wii U games to a handheld console was never going to be perfect, and it shows. Even if you’re playing this on a New 3DS, be prepared for glitches and questionable camera controls. The developers rightfully focused on making sure the characters played smoothly and stylishly amidst a ridiculously huge amount of enemies onscreen, and sacrificed the rest of the visuals in the process. The AI leaves much to be desired, though slaying hordes of video game monsters with iconic heroes is quite fun. If there was any Nintendo game that would benefit from patches and DLC, it’s this. There’s plenty of room for improvement in many areas, and time will tell if and how it’ll happen. Much like the overall Zelda franchise, Hyrule Warriors Legends has had a rough start, but could be potentially brilliant. Despite having so many heroes, it still needs a savior.

Originally posted here.

What’s The Deal With Leap Year?

Hey, folks. Happy Leap Year!

*Crickets chirping*

…Yeah, okay, it’s not an actual holiday. But it does represent one of the most important and fascinating aspects about the Earth and our understanding of physics. It’s common knowledge that a year is 365 days; it’s what modern civilization uses to keep track of business performance, industry production, crop harvesting, population growth, radioactive decay, public transit, pizza deliveries, birthdays, Oscar acceptance speeches, and pretty much anything remotely affected by the passage of time. Needless to say, timekeeping is kind of important.

However, it’s inaccurate.

The 365 day per year model is based on the Gregorian Calendar, which was first instituted by Pope Gregory XIII in 1582. It was an update to the far older Julian Calendar, in an attempt to bring the actual day of Easter closer to the day the church thought it was supposed to be celebrated. It was shoehorned in at the end of February because, honestly, the Romans had a long history of treating the month like an afterthought. While altering the basis of time measurement must have been a huge headache for everyone involved – there are still several different calendars spanning various cultures, and Greece didn’t adopt the new calendar until 1923! – it also illustrated the big problem with timekeeping on Earth: it doesn’t divide into perfect increments. Earth’s orbit is 365.256 days. How do you add .256 of a day to a calendar? Hence why Leap Day happens every four years; the calendar skips over that .256, then multiplies by a whole number of those years to make up for it. .256 x 4 = 1.024, which is just enough to make an extra day and leftovers small enough that no one will really care…

For now, anyway.

Here’s the thing: How we measure Leap Years – and thus the passage of time – is going to have to change in the far future. The algorithm that the Gregorian Calendar uses is fine for our current civilization; it’s as accurate and easily applicable as it needs to be. But on long-term timescales – we’re talking tens of thousands of years – it won’t be able to keep up with the astronomy and physics it’s based upon. Thanks to the effects of the Moon’s gravity, Earth’s rotation is actually slowing down, creating longer days. We’ve already introduced Leap Seconds to make up for the discrepancies and inconsistencies in the planet’s rotation. That’s all assuming that nothing crazy happens with Earth’s orbit, or if it remains stable enough until humanity dies off and the sun goes red giant and destroys the planet in a few billion years.

…Happy Leap Year!

Two Weeks In Europe: Day 5 – When In Rome (And The Vatican!)

Continued from Day 4…

Our wakeup call came at 5:30, but I was already awake. Today was the big one. We’d be in Rome this morning. Rome, The Eternal City. Rome, one of the crowning achievements of human ingenuity and creativity. Rome, one of the most important places in the history of Western civilization. After years of reading books and articles, seeing movies and documentaries, I’d finally get to see it with my own eyes.

Yeah, I was excited.

I wasn’t the only one, either. Though we’d planned to get up earlier to beat the morning crowd at the Windjammer, we found that every else had the same idea. Every table on Deck 9 – even the ones outside – was packed. It took a couple of laps around the restaurant before I found a couple of unattended seats. We ended up sharing space with a family from the Philippines. Unlike us, they were taking their time to enjoy their food; this wasn’t their first time to Rome, so they knew what pace to set. After exchanging contact information and business cards, we gathered lunch supplies, packed up, and waited at the designated meeting point for our tour. Our group gradually grew to a few dozen, and we shuffled off the ship within the hour.

As soon as I disembarked, I was struck by how cold it was outside. I’d anticipated the chilly temperatures – I’d gotten used to it after a couple of mornings – but the wind felt like a knife on my cheeks. Our guide’s voice was lost on the breeze, but he kept waving and beckoning us toward the small fleet of buses nearby. A massive sea wall loomed across the road from us, “WELCOME TO CIVITAVECCHIA” painted in letters two stories high. After being assigned our tour number (a little sticker that seemed perpetually on the verge of falling off), we climbed aboard. We were each handed a fold-out map of Rome. I compared it with the my travel guidebook and realized the unfortunate truth: There was too much to see. Even if we stuck to the most famous and touristy areas, there was no way we’d be able to see everything in one day.

The tour guide explained the choices in simple terms: we could either spend the day exploring Rome, or in the lines and crowds of the Vatican. Like a travel-themed Highlander show, there could be only one. We’d be dropped off in front of St. Peter’s Square in the morning, and we’d have until the late afternoon to get back. As the guide went around selling Vatican Museum tickets in advance, Mom and I quietly debated our options. Vatican City is self-explanatory; the sheer amount of history and culture would be mind-boggling. We’d get to see the Basilica, the Sistine Chapel, and some of the most famous works of art in the world. But that would also mean being stuck in the seemingly endless horde of tourists for the entire day. If we wandered through Rome, we’d get to see more sites at our own pace. That meant improvising an itinerary in an unfamiliar city and somehow getting back to the meetup point on time. When we asked the guide, he recommended the latter; it was our first time in the city, so we should get as much out of it as possible.

I leaned back and grumbled, but I knew he was right. The Vatican would have to wait. When I asked Mom what she wanted to see, she immediately chose the Colosseum. Which, to be fair, was at the top of my Things To See In Italy list. Of course we’d visit it, just had to find it. How hard could it be?

…It was on the opposite end of the map.

Okay, so obviously we’d be saving that for last. We’d have to start at St. Peter’s, then walk across town to the Colosseum. No problem, I’d done literally three times the amount of city hiking in a day. But that was in San Francisco, on my home turf, and without a time limit. On this trip, both endpoints and hours were established; all that was left was to find a walking route that was not only efficient, but maximized the amount of sites we could visit. After staring at the map for several minutes, I had it all planned. We’d walk from the Vatican to Castel Sant’Angelo, cross the Tiber via Ponte Umberto, follow the street to Piazza Navona, then turn left and head to the Pantheon, continue on to Trevi Fountain, take a slight detour north to the Spanish Steps, and then head south for the Colosseum. Getting back to the Vatican from there would have to be improvised depending on how much time we had left. It would be a little rushed, but doable.

After getting through the Vatican’s parking garage – a concrete monstrosity apparently capable of handling dozens of tour buses at once – our group trudged out of a tunnel and and stopped right in front of St. Peter’s Square. Like any piece of history, it was so much grander than anything seen in a book or painting. The sheer size amount of open space, the way the rows of columns curved like cupped hands, the gargantuan fountains, the Egyptian obelisk that has lasted since the Roman Empire…This place had seen – and survived – so much. I’m pretty sure I spent that first half hour awestruck, gaping and drooling over every last detail. Mom and I walked around the square and took photos, but we knew we couldn’t stay long. The tour guide wasn’t kidding; the line to get into the Basilica wrapped around the perimeter of St. Peter’s, and the constant influx of visitors made it hard to tell where it ended. Remembering the choice we’d made, we left the Vatican behind.

Our quest for the Colosseum started off relatively smoothly. Castel Sant’Angelo is right next to the Vatican, so finding both it and the bridge was easy. I’d also read and watched Angels and Demons years ago, so I my inner bookworm was geeking out. In retrospect, I wish I’d spent more time there; the museum lines were too long, and the bridge (and its wonderful statues) was too crowded for decent photography. When we crossed Ponte Umberto, I took a few minutes to enjoy the silence and view. The Tiber was almost serene; there were only a few joggers and bicyclists on its banks, and only one tour boat chugging upriver. We waved at the tourists as they passed underneath, then continued to Piazza Navona.

Fun fact: Like most ancient cities, Rome’s layout is pretty unusual. The narrow alleys, twisted, interconnected thoroughfares, and clustered buildings make navigating it a daunting task. Which makes sense, given how it’d be a massive obstacle for invading armies. But for modern visitors, it just required more time with the map. I’d started second-guessing myself when we emerged onto Piazza Navona and a whole new crowd of tourists. They were there for good reason; the fountains and architecture here are among Rome’s finest. The piazza was practically overshadowed by the Sant’Agnese in Agone, but everyone’s attention was focused on the Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi (AKA the Four Rivers Fountain). Originally designed by Bernini in the 1650s, it featured another obelisk supported by four gigantic statues. They represented the Nile, Danube, Ganges, and Rio de la Plata, the four major rivers in which continents the Vatican had authority. It was meant to represent the power and influence of the church, but I was more impressed by how lively they looked; like all of Bernini’s sculptures, these were incredibly detailed and seemed to capture the human form in motion. Just look at the way Ganges is posing in style, or how Rio de la Plata is stumbling back in fear. You wish you could make something that cool.

On our way to the Pantheon, we wandered past Sant’Ivo alla Sapienza, a masterpiece of Roman Baroque architecture. It was relatively deserted, but about half a dozen art or design students were hunched over their sketchbooks, trying to capture the building’s perfect arches and hallways. A couple of alleys later, we reached out next stop. That feeling of awe consumed me again. St. Peter’s Square is incredible, but the origins of the Pantheon predate Christianity itself. Just stop and think about that. It was rebuilt – the timeline is still debatable – but still. This architectural relic, standing tall and proud in the modern world, was already old when Vatican City came to be. As I walked past the front columns and into the building itself, I was struck by its unbelievable scale. The Pantheon is topped by the world’s largest unreinforced dome; I had to nearly bend over backwards to see all of its intricate designs. Even with a wide-angle lens, I’d have to lie down on the floor to even attempt photographing it. The oculus at its center loomed overhead, casting the afternoon sun on the walls like a gigantic spotlight. I tried taking a panorama (never thought I’d do that inside a building), but I could only record about half of it. We spent nearly an hour wandering around the Pantheon, looking at wonderful artwork, and the tombs of King Victor Emmanuel II, Umberto I, and (most famously) Raphael.

I was still reeling from the history overload when we stepped outside for a much-needed break. While it was cold in Rome, we were wearing three layers of clothes each, I was carrying our food, guidebook, and camera, and we hadn’t stopped since we’d left the Vatican. There was an open spot right in front of the Fontana del Pantheon, so we sat down for a few minutes, snacked on our sandwiches, and watched the ebb and flow of people. I wandered around for a bit and took a few more photos of the building, though it was nowhere near as fascinating outside. I also noticed people walking up to a small fountain nearby, refilling their empty water bottles or just getting a palmful of refreshment. I’m normally concerned about germs and contaminated drinking water – I avoid the tap at home whenever feasible – but I remembered the old adage: “When in Rome, do as the Romans do.” I threw caution to the wind, restocked my supply, and silently prayed I wouldn’t get sick.

Next stop: Trevi Fountain. In a city full of fountains, this was supposed to be the grandest of them all. It wasn’t that far away, either; according to the map, it was just a couple of streets away. We quickly set off…

…And immediately got lost.

It was then I realized the problem with our little map: it didn’t present the landmarks just by name, but by small, caricatured drawings of them as well. The little cartoon versions of the Pantheon and Trevi Fountain partially obscured the streets necessary to reach them, and names of those streets weren’t even listed. Also, the drawings were facing in incorrect directions, which made them far less useful as reference points. In retrospect, I was being an idiot; Trevi Fountain was to the slight northeast. All I needed was the position of the sun, and I could’ve figured it out instantly. But when you’re tired, cold, and stuck in a huge crowd, it’s easy to get distracted. We wasted about fifteen minutes walking in a circle before another traveler pointed us in the right direction. Pro-Tip: the alley to Trevi Fountain is to your left when you’re facing the front of the Pantheon, no matter what your cruddy tourist map says. There’s also a “This way to Trevi Fountain” sign to guide the way, which of course we missed on our first run.

Now going the correct way, we took a few minutes to get souvenirs. I added another keychain to my collection, and Mom got on another magnet for her fridge. The shopkeeper was Filipina, which was somehow surprising; she and Mom chatted in Tagalog while I finished shopping. By that point, however, we both needed a restroom. There happened to be a McDonald’s along the way, which proved to be the absolute worst part of the trip. Like any McDonald’s in Europe, the place was overrun with tourists; the line was nearly out the door, and the roar of hungry patrons was deafening. We squeezed through the horde and went upstairs to the restrooms, only to find there were more than a dozen women already lined up against the wall. I got my business done mercifully quickly, but the single-toilet men’s room was horrendously smelly, dirty, and rancid. Seriously, you could smell the filth even behind the door. I was in there for barely a minute, and I felt sick when I left. Come to think of it, I should probably report them to whatever health inspectors Rome has…Anyway, Mom saw how absurdly disgusting the place was and decided to leave.

We kept walking until we came to Trevi Fountain itself. Mom made a beeline for the Melograno restaurant nearby, which was far more sanitary and less crowded than McDonald’s. No bathroom lines, either; she was back in fifteen minutes wish some gelato for the both of us. In the meantime, I pushed through the crowds and attempted to get a look at the fountain. I was disappointed to discover that it had been closed off for restoration; the entire area was surrounded by plastic, transparent barricades. While it was possible to see the fountain, it was drained of its water, and construction crews were hard at work. It ended up reopening just days after our trip ended. No use crying about it now. As I finished my gelato, I looked at my watch and considered our options. If we picked up the pace just a little bit, we’d still have time to see the Spanish Steps.

At that point, however, I hadn’t learned my lesson about using the map’s landmarks as reference points. The Spanish Steps were less than a ten minute walk away; we just had to go north and follow the street. But of course, I had to follow the map. A few minutes later, we’d mistakenly climbed up to the Quirinal Palace. Fun fact: The Spanish Steps were also closed for restoration, but I didn’t know that at the time. Feeling rushed, angry at myself, and utterly tired (hauling all that stuff wasn’t helping), I took a moment to sit down and regain my bearings. The front of the palace doubles as an elevated lookout point; the rooftops of Rome spread out as far I could see, and I could just make out the top of St. Peter’s Basilica in the distance. We had only a couple of hours to make it back there. How much more could we possibly see?

Our problems were partially solved when we started climbing back down and came across a Carabinieri. He was incredibly nice and gracious enough to point us in the right direction; I’m sure he’s probably sick of answering tourists’ questions countless times every day, but the effort was very much appreciated. Just a short walk down to the Piazza Venezia, and then past it via the street to the left. It was a simple as it sounded…for the most part. Crossing a street in the heart of Rome, even with the pedestrian signal, felt like the parting of the Red Sea; a narrow path with potential death bearing down on you from all sides.

Once we made it past the piazza, the rest of the walk was breeze. The Colosseum loomed high in the distance, and the road to it was a straight line. Our only obstacles were the thick, impassable throngs of fellow tourists, and our own exhaustion. I was still doing fairly well, but Mom kept falling back repeatedly. When we reached the Roman Forum, I gave her a chance to rest. As we looked over the railing, I took a few photos and gave her a brief history of the location and its importance. I was sorely tempted to go down and explore, but there was precious little time left. By the time we reached the Colosseum, it became clear that we wouldn’t be able to go inside; the lines were huge, and we’d basically have to run through the tour. Instead, we settled for walking around the entire perimeter and peeking in where we could. It wasn’t nearly as much as it could’ve been, but it worked with our time constraints. Mom was happy that she finally got to see something she’d read about as a child, and that’s what really mattered.

As the wonder and awe of the Colosseum faded, reality started sinking in. We were about an hour’s walk away from St. Peter’s. We could totally do it, assuming that we didn’t get lost on the way back. We briefly considered taking the subway, but I don’t think either of us had the energy left to learn another map system. We’d trudged all the way back to Piazza Venezia when I realized that we couldn’t make it back on foot in time. Mom was going far too slow, and I’d lost faith in my navigational skills. After walking and debating for a few more minutes, and we finally settled on a taxi. I collapsed into the front seat, told the driver where to go, and turned on my camera. If I was going to be leaving Rome, I wanted one last, unique memory: I recorded the entire taxi ride from the piazza back to Vatican City. The drive took less than ten minutes, but it felt so much longer.

After paying up and thanking the driver (Keep being chill and awesome, Alessandro!), we were back where we started. Aside from the position of the sun, nothing had really changed; the line to get into the Basilica was still endless. We had 45 minutes left. Not enough time to see a museum, but just enough to do some shopping and find the Vatican’s exclusive post office. Seriously, the Vatican Post Office! It’s hidden behind the pillars to the right, within shouting distance of the Sistine Chapel. I bought a postcard, addressed it to the family back in California, and handed it off to the worker inside. Said worker was a big, burly fellow who was probably making fun of my inability to speak Italian. Anyway, that postcard is currently stuck to my fridge (it arrived two days before I returned home), and I got a Vatican-exclusive euro as part of my change from the transaction. At that point, Mom got tired of me dragging her around to take photos. She left in an exasperated huff without warning, so I spent a few minutes in a near-panic trying to find her in the crowd. She’s a fighter, but she’s not quite as resilient as she used to be. She knew where the meet-up location was; I just hoped no one tried to mug or pickpocket her while I wasn’t around.

She was fine, thankfully. We met up shortly before the designated time, still annoyed with the other. I spent the last few minutes taking photos; it took me several tries, but I managed to get a panorama of St. Peter’s Square from the front. I ducked into the Vatican gift shop and quickly searched for a decent souvenir. I didn’t want to get a cross – I’m not particularly religious – and I didn’t want to bother with overpriced jewelry that I’d never wear. Instead, I opted for something a little bizarre, but a uniquely perfect keepsake: holy water. That’s right, I have a vial of holy water from the Vatican on my shelf now. In terms of unusual travel trinkets I’ve gained over the years, that tops them all. I’m glad I was able to hold onto it; according to our tour guide, the short walk back down to the Vatican parking garage is a haven for pickpocketers. He even had us carry our backpacks in front of us. Aside from a couple of missing group members (who ended up getting back on the ship late), the trip back was uneventful.

When we piled back onto the tour bus, I felt weariness wash over me like a tidal wave. We’d been up before dawn, explored one of the greatest cities on Earth, seen so much art and history…and that was just a taste of Rome. We’d have to go back there someday. I don’t remember falling asleep, but I was woken up by the tour guide explaining the importance of Civitavecchia. Fishermen in ancient times would go to the port at the end of the day to sell their catches, and the tradition is still alive today; dozens of boats were docked nearby, silhouetted against the sunset, crates of fish already being sold. Had we not been on a fully-catered cruise, Mom and I probably would’ve gotten something. Instead, we staggered back onto the ship, traded travel stories at dinner, and called it an early night. After all we’d done, we’d earned a great night’s sleep.

To be continued…

Weekly Photo Challenge: St. Peter’s Square Panorama

St Peter's Square Panorama

This week’s challenge is all about gatherings, so I thought I’d jump slightly ahead of my travel writing and give you guys the first glimpse my time in Europe. St. Peter’s Square sees thousands of visitors every day. It’s designed for people to gather and feel embraced; the columns look like open arms, beckoning you to come closer. You don’t have to be religious to appreciate the intricate architecture and sense of scale. This place is much, much bigger than it looks; it took about a dozen tries to get this panorama to work. Just imagine how many people have been here…

Larger version is viewable here.

Two Weeks In Europe: Day 4 – The Leaning Tower Of Pisa

Continued from Day 3…

The front desk gave us a wake up call at 8 AM. I’d learned from the mistakes of the previous day. It still involved me stumbling around in the dark to reach the state room’s phone, but at least I had a better sense of time. While Mom got up, I quickly dressed, grabbed my camera, and climbed up to the Windjammer. As the doors automatically whooshed open to let me onto Deck 9, I immediately regretted not bringing a coat. The sun was out, but it certainly didn’t feel like it. I shuddered against the breeze and headed straight for the restaurant. I munched on pineapple chunks and gazed out at our latest port. We’d left France behind in the night, and were now docked in Livorno, Italy. The sleepy little town and sweeping cliffs were replaced with a harbor crowded with cargo boxes, cranes, rusty warehouses, deserted parking lots, and about half a dozen other cruise ships. One was inexplicably painted with Looney Tunes characters; a four-story portrait of Bugs Bunny was the last thing I’d expect to see on this trip.

I squinted past the harbor and tried to get a glimpse of Livorno itself. The terrain was mostly flat, curving upwards into the hills near the horizon. The buildings closest to the water were each only a few stories tall (most likely hotels or apartments), with the occasional church bell tower looming in the background. Maybe it was due to my sleepiness or the morning sun glaring in my eyes, but nothing about this port jumped out at me. Villefranche had been like a mysterious, alluring lover that practically begged me to explore every inch of it. Livorno was drab and impersonal; it was there to do its job, nothing more or less.

And the worst part? I wouldn’t get the chance to be proven wrong. We weren’t going to be spending any time in town. This port gave travelers access to Florence and Pisa, and we’d already scheduled an excursion for the latter. That had been Mom’s choice; while I’d been keen on visiting Florence ever since hearing Hannibal Lecter talk about it in The Silence of the Lambs, she’d been fascinated with the Leaning Tower of Pisa since she was a child. I wasn’t going to deny her a chance to cross off a decades-old bucket list entry. Besides, I was interested as well; the unique combination of history, architecture, art, and physics made it too cool to pass up.

The bus ride to Pisa was uneventful. 40 minutes on the highway, with the occasional view of open fields and small towns. The tour guide had given each of us a small map that displayed the general layout of the area. It wasn’t necessary, though; we were just going to visit the Piazza dei Miracoli, not explore the city proper. Getting that far, however, required a little more effort. As soon as we got off the bus, we were bombarded with offers for knockoff designer bags, watches, and sunglasses. I immediately flashed back to our trip to Morocco, in which vendors stalked Mom for hours because she showed off her jewelry and heels and tried haggling with everyone. I inwardly cringed and waited for an inevitable repeat.

However, she seemed to have learned from the experience. She’d dressed plainly, stashed her money in a lanyard hidden under her arm and coat, and didn’t spare even a glance at the vendors. She and everyone else in the group crowded around the tour guide and fixated the numbered placard held above his head. We obediently followed him out of the parking lot, across a few streets, past some train tracks, and through a residential neighborhood. Most tourists have this romanticized view of Pisa (and Tuscany by extension), but it has the same aspects common to any busy area: noisy traffic, litter, graffiti, worn buildings, restaurants, children, beggars, pickpockets, crowded souvenir markets, etc. The chaos was kind of refreshing in a way; this wasn’t just some fancy, polished tourist trap. People lived here. Can you imagine owning a house next to one of the most famous landmarks on Earth?

Yeah, it wouldn’t be pleasant.

After leaving the meeting point – a local restaurant advertising pizza and gelato – we made the short walk through the souvenir market and through an old archway. The bustling, tourist-choked shops gave way to Piazza dei Miracoli’s massive expanse of grass and architecture. Whenever I see these ancient places, I’m always struck with the sense of scale upon which they’re designed. I’d been to bigger churches (the Seville Cathedral comes to mind), but this seemed different because the landmark was in an open field instead of a city. This place housed only three main buildings – the tower, cathedral, and baptistery – but they completely dominated the landscape. The tower is only about 60 meters high (and yes, it visibly leans), but the people milling around its sunken base looked like insects. And man, were there a lot of people. Thousands of travelers, mostly armed with DSLRs or selfie sticks, gaped at the architectural masterpiece/disaster and spent several minutes trying to shoot the perfect angle. This usually involved someone pretending to hold the tower up in an epic feat of strength, poking it with a finger, or holding up an object to manipulate perspective and size comparison. Is it tacky? Yes. Did I do my own version? Yes. I have no idea if I’ll ever see this place again, so I can afford to indulge in a little shamelessness.

Getting inside was another story. See, our excursion was to the Piazza dei Miracoli, but not within the Leaning Tower itself. That was a whole separate thing, which necessitated finding the tourism office, buying tickets, standing in line behind hundreds of people, and waiting for the guards posted at the entrance to let us pass. That’s a lot to take on normally, but our severe time limit made it impossible. I’m the kind of traveler who loves climbing and exploring far-flung areas, so the inability to get inside was incredibly annoying. Instead, we spent the hour wandering around the field and checking out the architecture. When I tried going into the cathedral, I was turned away by the authorities. Turns out our visit coincided with an incredibly high-profile funeral service. I don’t know who died, but I glimpsed a few dozen mourners exiting the building later on.

I headed back to the base of the tower – snapping a few photos of the horse-drawn carriages along the way – and headed to the cafe area nearby. After a few seconds of trying to navigate the crowds, I remembered that I’d brought lunch with me. I turned around and nearly collided with a man dressed as a Subway mascot. Unlike many places in Italy, this blend of ancient and modern did not go well together. Feeling defeated, I spent the rest of the time walking around the perimeter of the field. While everyone was clamoring for photos in the distance, the Camposanto Monumentale was particularly quiet and peaceful. It’s amazing how long those walls have stood. How many people walked there? How many died there? How many more centuries would it last? I was torn out my reverie when I passed a flustered young woman. She was looking wildly in every direction, on the verge of sheer panic. Turns out my paranoia was justified; she’d been pickpocketed within seconds of putting her bag down to take a photo. Not just her wallet or her passport, but her entire bag. She wasn’t going to get any of it back. As I watched her being escorted away to the authorities, I shoved my hands into my pockets and made sure Mom still had all of her stuff.

It was at that moment that we decided to go back. There were only about ten minutes left until the group had to meet up again, the cathedral was still closed, and there wasn’t anything else left to explore. Seeing that poor woman had killed what interest I had in staying. The feeling of dissatisfaction finally overtook me as we left the field and saw a McDonalds overflowing with tourists. Historical places normally fascinate me, but by then I felt tired and dejected. We made it back to the meeting point with time to spare, so I drifted back to a souvenir stand and picked out a key chain for myself, and a stylish Pisa-themed bag for one of my relatives. Of course, I was immediately swarmed by other vendors. Most took the hint right away, but one fellow was particularly desperate. When I refused his regular goods, he took a small elephant statue out of his pocket and tried to sell it to me for a euro. It took about a minute of one-sided haggling before he finally gave up. I quickly shoved my trinkets into my backpack, lest I get blindsided on the walk back to the bus.

During that walk, I made sure to take a few shots of the urban areas outside of the field. A glimpse of an abandoned, dilapidated house. Train tracks slightly overgrown with weeds. Old walls with cracks wide enough to expose the bricks underneath. I wanted to show others that there was more to Pisa than just the tower and the field. I wanted proof that life in Europe isn’t always as glamorous as we think it is. I spent the ride back to Livorno staring numbly out the window. The countryside was gorgeous; if I had more time, I’d have liked to hike it. But not on this trip. Mom later asked me to rank all of the places we’d seen from best to worst. Needless to say, Pisa was dead last. I’m immensely grateful to have been there, of course – it’s famous for good reason – but the entire experience felt rushed, and incomplete. On the bright side, the next day would prove to be far, far more epic.

To be continued on Day 5…